


Turn of Phrase

by LadyVegeets



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: 3 year gap, Dictionary, F/M, Vegebul, idioms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 05:31:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18732583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyVegeets/pseuds/LadyVegeets
Summary: Bulma is nosey, and Vegeta doesn’t like to be left in the dark. (A silly little one-shot set early on in the 3-year-gap)





	Turn of Phrase

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ETNRL4L](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ETNRL4L/gifts).



****Her mind still turning over her work in the lab, Bulma walked down the corridor on the way to her room. It just so happened to be the same corridor past Vegeta’s room. He had been living at Capsule Corp for several months now, and still managed to be as enigmatic as ever. He hardly spoke to anyone and when he did, it wasn’t always the most pleasant of exchanges. He spent 99 percent of his time training, the rest of his time dedicated to eating and sleeping and being a general pain in the ass.

But hey, he hadn’t killed anyone yet (to her knowledge) so… Glass half full.

Consciously or not, her mind fell silent as she passed his door, her ears pricking up for any signs of life. What did mister short, dark, and criminally handsome do in his free time?

Her feet came to a stop. Was that a voice?

Was that _his_ voice?

Was Vegeta talking to someone?

Was Vegeta _entertaining_ someone?!

No… impossible. Vegeta only ever entertained a bad attitude. Who the hell did he know — and who knew _him_ — that would come back to his room and at this hour of the night?

Curiosity ramped up to maximum, Bulma couldn’t help herself. She pressed her ear to the door and listened. If she was a betting girl, she’d put down her new bike that it was indeed Vegeta talking, albeit softly. Unusual in and of itself. He rarely spoke in such subdued tones. Unfortunately, she couldn’t make out what he was saying, or if anyone else was in there with him.

Well, there was no way in hell she was going to be able to sleep tonight until she got to the bottom of this.

She stood back and knocked on his door.

The talking immediately stopped. A few seconds later the door cracked open and a familiar scowl directed itself her way.

“What?”

He had barely cracked the door, the insufferable ass, but she still made a point of giving him a look-over from head to toe, taking in the casual white tank and black sweats, each stamped with a CC logo. The corner of her lip curled up. There was something oddly satisfying about seeing him branded in her family’s insignia. Like he was slowly being domesticated.

…Housebroken.

“Is there a reason you’re bothering me, or did you merely come to get an eyeful?” The sharp bite of his words reminded her of her purpose. Her eyes snapped back to his. They were narrowed, calculating, but _guarded_. For all his pomp and ego, he still considered her a threat. It was oddly flattering.

“Everything going alright with the gravity room?” she asked, deciding the best course of action was a more round-about approach. “You haven’t come demanding repairs or improvements in a couple of days, I was starting to worry you might be dead.”

His scowl intensified, his lip curling with disdain. “Don’t. Like anything _you_ could make could kill _me_.”

She raised her chin. “Oh? Is that a challenge?”

His lips twitched, almost a smile. “It would be, if there was any challenge to be had.”

Oh, no he _didn’t_.

Wait, no, focus Bulma. He’s baiting you. You didn’t come here for a fight.

Choking back her pride for now — he would get his later — Bulma tried to steer the conversation back on track. “And your room?”

The ghost of his smile died, his posture tensing. “What about my room?”

“Everything agreeable? You’ve been here a while now but I don’t think I ever really checked in with you since you first started living here.”

He grimaced at her choice of words. He refused to acknowledge her house as his home. It was always _your_ planet this, and _your_ house that. The only time he invoked a ‘my’ was about his room or his food.

“It is tolerable,” he conceded. “Is that all?”

This wasn’t working. To hell with round-about. “Was that the tv I heard just now? Or the radio perhaps?”

“And why would I wish to inflict upon myself your Earth drivel?”

She would take that as a no. “It’s just, I thought I heard voices.”

Vegeta did the most peculiar thing. If she had blinked, she would have missed it. It lasted all of about 0.2 seconds, but in that time his mask fell away and the panic flashed across his face. Then just as quickly the glitch in the Matrix fixed itself and he was all cool-as-you-please cucumber with a hefty side of Saiyan beef.

“It was the radio,” he deadpanned.

Oh, that lying shit.

They stared at each other, both of them knowing he was busted but he refused to backdown from the lie.

Bulma cocked her hip, resting her hand there with confidence. “What station?”

“Whatever station drowns our your incessant screeching.” And with that he slammed the door shut on her face.

Bulma stared at the paneling with indignant fury before slamming her palm against it for good measure. “Fine! Keep your secrets, Vegeta, like I give a damn, but you don’t have to be a colossal dick about it! See if I give you the time of day again when you next break the gravity room!”

With a huff, she stomped back to her room and slammed the door shut behind her.

* * *

~xox~

 

Vegeta grimaced as he heard the the sharp bang of her door close. The woman was finally gone. Good riddance.

He scowled at his door for a moment longer, still irked by the whole confrontation. Like she had any right to be sticking her nose into his business. What did she expect, for him to throw open the door and invite her in and discuss the intricacies of what he did in his free time?

As if.

With an irritated huff, he made his way back to his desk and pulled open the draw. He dug out from hiding a small but dense book he had found in the Briefs’ library.

 _Little Book of Earth Idioms_.

He started flipping through the pages.

Though he and the people of Earth shared a mutual language, there were still a lot of expressions the people here used — the damn woman especially —that he was unfamiliar with. At best it was bothersome. At worst it was _humiliating_ , leaving him adrift in a conversation with no alternative but to flounder and hope he found his way back to the point. Because like hell was he going to stop her and admit he didn’t understand everything she said. That would give her even more of an advantage over him than she already had, what with her putting him up and providing him with an occupation.

Some days he felt like he had traded one Frieza for another.

He might be another glorified pet, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to content himself with a Saibaman’s grasp of the local vernacular. Information was key to success, to power, to strength. He wasn’t about to let a few stupid turns of phrase keep him from achieving his goals: get the Legendary; beat the Androids; kill Kakarot; then… rule the universe, or something. He hadn’t quite gotten that far yet.

He reached the page he was looking for. He scrolled down the list with his index finger until he found the phrase and then carefully read it aloud. He found it helped to do so, to process the information faster especially as the Earth alphabet was still new to him.

“To ‘give the time of day’ is to respect someone enough to pay them attention. Conversely, to ‘not give someone the time of day’ is to dislike them so much as to ignore them.”

He let that sink in a moment. Then he scowled in the direction of the woman’s room and made a dismissive sound.

“See if I give _you_ the time of day again, vulgar woman,” he grumbled under his breath before he snapped the book shut and shoved it back into hiding. He turned off his lights and got into bed, trying to push aside the woman’s threats of leaving him to his own devices — and the uneasy feeling it conjured — before he drifted off to sleep.

 

* * *

~xoXox~

 

 **AN:** Written for the-tesseract-wrinkling-time who once claimed she would read anything I wrote, including Vegeta reading from a dictionary (or something to that effect).


End file.
